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suicide poem

i corridoi di marmo resounding lunghi
potremmo ma sapere
felicità
al lover appassionato
dai nostri posti nascosti
sono il vento che esita
pharaoh, re della terra dell'egitto
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
alti pareti ed enorme
scattando in su, cadendo
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso

 



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